Fall of the Cities: Putting Down Roots

by Vance Huxley

  Eventually Harold made up for missing his morning duty and escaped to go and work on strengthening the wall around the enclave until bedtime, when he read to Daisy because tonight was Uncle-Harold story night. By then Sharyn had found out there were no Coco Pops in the shopping so she’d keep using drinking chocolate to make Daisy’s breakfast cereal turn brown.

  *   *   *

  “Cripes, it’s a pity we didn’t have that lot when the mob came.” Liz frowned and looked at the weapons and ammunition in the garage. “I’ve already fixed two crossbows but some of these might be past that.” The tall, wiry metalworker looked at the damaged crossbows properly. “Four just need TLC and maybe another three or four might repair, if Sandy helps with some creative woodwork?”

  “Good, that will make us up to a dozen full size, two pistol bows and the three child versions. How did you get on with machetes?” Harold smiled because arrows for bows were relatively easy to make, unlike bullets.

  “Not too bad. I’ve straightened eight, but that and making arrowheads is using up my charcoal.” Liz pointed. “We collected lots of knives though. If there are enough broom handles I can make a lot of spears with knife blades, really cheap.”

  “Eight is enough machetes since we aren’t allowed outside the walls yet so nobody needs to be heavily armed. Take the rest of the heavy metal gear off to your lair, while we sort out the firearms.”

  “Cripes yes, I don’t want that ammunition near my hot forge.” Liz looked around. “Come on, let’s see some muscles and get these shifted.”

  “Not too many muscles or you’ll be after my fair body.” Casper, six foot three with the physique of a bodybuilder, grinned. “You’re not my type.”

  “She’s the wrong sex for you which is a bigger problem.” Finn, a spare man in his forties and their electrician, frowned. “I’ll carry something but only one-handed until my arm heals. Any firearms will be better for defence than the poncy air pistol.”

  “Can we have some extra guns now, Harold? For the guardhouses.” Matthew grinned. “Then Bess can go crazy with both hands.”

  “You can have some for the guardhouses but get her to slow up. With shooting at least.” Everyone laughed because Bess had definitely set her cap for the red-haired ex-traffic warden. Harold looked over the firearms. “You can have six handguns, and two shotguns which will double the firepower but there’s still not much ammo. I can reload the brass, but I’ve not got the propellant to load a lot.”

  “What about the rest? There are another half dozen handguns, and those two shotguns.” Casper bent over and picked up one of the pistols. “They’re all different sizes.”

  “Only five calibres and most are nine millimetre, which is lucky because the recovered ammo is mostly that. I’ll clean and check the rest, then swap them out for what’s being used. Just remember, do not let the Army get a hint of even an air pistol or they’ll shoot.” Harold put weapons into his pockets. “Come on, I’ll lock these in the study at home.” He grinned, “Then I’ve got an excuse to lock myself in there away from Daisy.”

  “Cripes, luck with that,” Sal, one of the original residents, smirked. “I thank your all and any Gods I was never tempted into rugrats. Daisy at five is enough to make me swear off them for life.”

  “More to the point is what you can be tempted into?” Jon ducked a feigned slap.

  Bernie grinned. “Are you a chocolates or flowers girl?”

  “Unless those marts sell chocolate, a small bar of Cadbury’s Dairy Milk could be the equivalent of a pint of Spanish Fly by Easter.” Sal smirked. “Though if anyone’s got chocolate he’ll never hold out until then, not with the entire girl club working on him.”

  “All of them?” Jon looked upwards with a rapt expression. “A man can dream.”

  “Man? A pimply youth.”

  “I’ve heard about men’s dreams.”

  “Holly is a man’s dream.”

  “Any blonde is.”

  “Matthew prefers brunettes – or else.”

  Harold smiled at the joking, but he worried as they took the weapons up to his new home. Extra firearms would help but all the ammunition, including arrows, had been used up in a few frantic minutes as the mob closed and had barely slowed them. Without the Army the lunatics would have run right over the place. Most of the firearms came from dead lunatics either before or after the big attack, but none of them carried much ammunition. Harold could make up a few more rounds, but there still wouldn’t be enough for another emergency.

  *   *   *

  “Harold, Harold!” Harold smiled because Hazel seemed incapable of saying his name once when anything exciting happened. “There’s a soldier at the gate. He wants to talk to you.”

  “Five minutes Hazel. Nip down there and ask someone to tell him please.” Harold smiled again as he heard her race off down the stairs because Hazel also seemed incapable of walking anywhere.

  About five minutes later he stood on a box to look over the barricade at an armoured car with an officer looking back out of the turret hatch. “You wanted me?”

  This one wasn’t chatty. “We will be marching a party of prisoners through here to clear away the bodies. If any escape, do not give them shelter. We will come in to get them.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got the message and all the women are hidden. Any problem if we stick an arrow in any who try?” Harold tried not to smile as surprise wiped out the officer’s stern, official expression.

  “What? Ah. You’ve heard.” The officer shrugged. “That might be a good idea but make very sure no missile comes near any of our men. They will construe that as an attack.”

  “No problem.” Behind the armoured car the first of the prisoners marched past and they were all dressed in the orange suits made infamous by video clips of Guantanamo Bay. Not military marching but definitely in time and closely watched by soldiers in an open lorry holding their weapons ready. The armoured car reversed and the turret swung to cover the orange-clad ranks.

  “There’ll be guns out there among the bodies.” Casper had come out of the nearby house to talk quietly.

  “I know. It’s why they won’t let us scavenge and I’ll bet those blokes with rifles will be watching the prisoners really closely.” Harold raised his eyes and looked towards the west. “At least the bodies will be gone before that lot finish with the city centre.” A thick cloud of birds still hung over the thousands of corpses where the rioters made their last stand, two weeks ago. “I didn’t fancy those descending on us.”

  “I didn’t fancy the smell if they didn’t, or the rats.” Despite the cold weather a definite whiff of corruption came from the wide swathe of housing that had been shelled to stop the rioters. There were also rats and carrion birds in there, but not in huge numbers. “Bess and Holly are in number six with full sized crossbows because we can trust both of them to open fire, especially now they know who the prisoners are. I reckon Jon will as well.”

  “As long as the women stay hidden. You took all the guns away from the guards?” Harold glanced up at the house nearby, used to guard the gate, because normally a two-two rifle and at least two handguns lived in there.

  “Yes, there’ll be no mistakes. I’ll stay here with a crossbow and two of those smaller ones, the kid’s version. Emmy is the other side of the gate in number two, with a big crossbow. Does that repaired one work?” Casper pointed at the heavy crossbow in Harold’s hand.

  “Yes, it was only the stock and Sandy made something that works. Liz is working on the other damaged ones.” Harold turned. “I’ll be at the far end.” He held up his small cheap walkie-talkie. “I’ll keep in touch.”

  Harold stayed on duty all day, until Casper confirmed that the orange-clad convicts had marched back up onto the bypass. Six times Army rifles fired short bursts deep in the ruins but nobody came out towards Orchard Close.

  *   *   *

  On the second day two JCBs followed the prisoners so the bodies were presumabl
y being buried. Just after midday Harold heard shouting and when he looked out of the side window he saw an orange clad body. The corpse, with two crossbow bolts sticking up out of his chest, lay halfway between the ruins and Orchard Close. Bess and Holly had let him get close enough to be sure of a kill. “Alfie, Billy, keep a close look the other way because I’m watching the gap towards Bess.”

  “I’ve got it Harold.” Alfie had a full size crossbow and a pistol bow poised to shoot; despite his age he was capable and willing to pull the trigger, even at the age of fifteen. The death of his friend Toby at the same tender age had removed any qualms Alfie had about self-defence.

  Harold clicked the radio. “Bess? Jon? Holly?”

  “Bess. Holly is talking to the soldiers instead of Jon because,” Bess sniggered, “she looks harmless.” Harold smiled because despite being an innocent looking seventeen-year-old blonde, Holly was implacable where rioters or gangsters were concerned.

  “What do they want?” Harold spoke again before Bess could answer. “Don’t let the prisoners see Holly.”

  “Holly only let the soldiers have a quick look to show how sweet and innocent she is then ducked back inside to talk. The soldiers want to make sure we aren’t going to fire on the men who come for the body. Though it’s a temptation.” Harold could see what tempted Bess because four more orange clad men had left the ruins. These four were accompanied by two squaddies with rifles. “She’s asked the soldiers if we can have our arrows back, please.”

  Harold watched as a soldier pointed at the body and two of the prisoners pulled the bolts out, though one had to brace himself and use two hands. The prisoner passed the bolts to a soldier, who inspected them before throwing the shafts towards Orchard Close. The radio crackled. “The Army is impressed by Liz’s latest arrowhead.” Liz had sworn to make a head that couldn’t be extracted without it costing a limb. The four prisoners took the body away closely watched by the soldiers, though one squaddie waved as the group went back into the ruins.

  *   *   *

  By the end of the fifth day there had been five more orange-clad bodies in the cleared strip between Orchard Close and the blackened ruins. Two prisoners had been shot by soldiers as they ran, and three were killed by crossbow bolts from inside Orchard Close when they came too near. The radio brought Harold back to the gate and the armoured car waiting outside. “Are you done?” Behind the vehicle the prisoners were marching up onto the bypass.

  “Yes, and a note has been made of your helpful attitude. Please do not stray over there until tomorrow because we are still filling in the graves. If you find any firearms missed by the searchers, please hand them in to the soldiers on the checkpoint.” Harold didn’t smile even though the officer’s voice held a hint of humour. “Send them up with that innocent looking lass, but without her crossbow.”

  Both Harold and the officer knew bloody well any weapons would be kept, but it all had to be said for the record. “No problem. I’d be more worried about one of that lot keeping something nasty.”

  This time there was definite humour in the officer’s voice. “They strip completely and walk through a scanner before loading up. They all know by now that any sort of a weapon means we bring them back and put them in the hole.”

  “Er, good.” That startled Harold. Summary executions weren’t normal even these days, or he’d thought not. “Have you left us anything?”

  “We don’t allow the prisoners to loot, though the place is a bit banged up. Remember, not until tomorrow.” The armoured vehicle, a modern one rather than the older version at the mart, reversed to follow the prisoners.

  Harold turned to the waiting crowd. “You heard, we only have to stay in here until the day after tomorrow.” Harold laughed at the cheer, because he knew exactly how relieved they all felt.

  Chapter 2:

  Setting Boundaries Mk II

  Harold looked into the proffered tin. “Is that it?”

  “Yup. I’ve been using drinking chocolate to turn ordinary cereal into chocolate cereal for weeks now. Not exactly Coco Pops but near enough, apparently,” Sharyn smiled. “Either find some or explain to Daisy why her supply has stopped.”

  “Cripes, not likely.”

  “Are you coming or not?” It hadn’t taken long for Liz to get fed up of waiting and she had come inside to roust Harold. “Casper has already taken his group out, and Emmy will be gone any time now.” She scowled. “You were the one who said this is urgent, that we’ll need all the food we can get to save coupons. If you didn’t insist on coming Holly would have already left with our lot.” The residents of Orchard Close, or over a third of them, were really keen to get out there and find out what the Army had left.

  “Coming.” Harold hung the two-two rifle over his shoulder on a long strap, stuck a nine mill pistol in the back of his belt, and put on his long leather coat to cover them. Then he hugged Sharyn and Daisy, and joined the eight others in the street.

  “Straight that way, towards the GOFS.” Harold pointed towards the city centre where the birds still circled. He led the way into the centre house on that side and out of the door onto the cleared area, waiting until he heard the bars and bolts slam shut before moving away.

  The first fifty yards of ruins were fire-blackened and nobody even bothered to look in any remaining structures. Very few walls were above head height, and even the trees were charred stumps. “All that charcoal, gone to waste. I need it all for metalworking.”

  “Sorry Liz, but there wasn’t time. Mark every remotely salvageable tree you see on the map and we’ll get them later, unless they’re fruit trees.” Harold waved the rough map he carried, copied from a road atlas. “Everyone spread out in a long line and keep an eye open for chocolate powder.”

  “Fat chance. You don’t honestly think the men are going to get anywhere near chocolate, do you?” Holly grinned and headed for the left flank.

  “It’s for Daisy, because otherwise there will be serious trouble. Big-time trouble, I’m told.” The line spread out, with about thirty feet between the searchers, and started forward.

  “A lot depends on what he’s trading for the chocolate.”

  “I want hugs.”

  “I might want those slow hands I’ve heard about.”

  “I’d settle for a slow dance.”

  “I’ve got mistletoe.” The banter died away quickly as the true state of the housing became clear. Worse, the prisoners might have cleared most of the complete bodies but they hadn’t got everything or even everyone.

  “I don’t fancy searching the bodies, Harold.” Until now every dead rioter or gangster had been strip searched for any useful items but Robert, one of the latest arrivals, had a good point. These bodies were definitely ripe.

  “Leave them, and mark them on your map.” Harold thought quickly. “Black cross, a plus sign like a church cross. I’ll sort out a few people with strong stomachs to shift them.” The searchers carried a selection of coloured pens and crayons salvaged before the riots, but those working out the coding had expected the bodies to be gone.

  The line moved forward slowly, marking down possible fruit tree and bushes, and patches of vegetables that hadn’t been ploughed up by explosions or the Army diggers. These houses weren’t burned but nobody went inside because many were badly damaged. Another quarter of a mile into the housing that changed, dramatically.

  *   *   *

  “How come those aren’t damaged, Harold? Well they are, but you know what I mean.” Liz pointed across the wide road running across in front of the searchers. The houses on the far side had broken roof tiles and windows, but in most cases the brickwork seemed intact. Harold looked them over carefully.

  “That’s shrapnel, the bits of metal that were whizzing about when the Army shelled the houses near us. They’ve used air bursts, more or less anyway though a few shells landed.” Harold pointed. “Look at the old bloodstains and clothing. Shrapnel kills people instead of chewing up the real estate. These a
re the ones that ran away so everyone was in the open.”

  “The bastards could have done that nearer to us rather than smash up all that food.” Tim’s scowl probably came from the pain of his wound as well as the damage to housing. At least everyone’s wounds were healing now even if some would never recover the proper use of limbs or hands. The damage inflicted by baseball bats still incapacitated some, even where arms and fingers weren’t broken. If the fight hadn’t happened in winter with everyone muffled up in thick clothing, the injuries would have been even worse.

  “The Army wanted to frighten away the closest rioters, and houses blowing up and burning does a great job.” Harold had no idea of the real reason, but that sounded right. “From now on we’ll be going slower because we go into houses. Double up folks, one outside the house on lookout, one to search. Put any bigger containers, especially plastic petrol cans and the like, out near the road. We’ll make a run with the pickup to get them.”

  “Are we collecting weapons today Harold, because there’s a machete and a lot of arrows here?” Holly waved the lightly rusted machete. “Though it was in this grass so not easy to see, and we’ll miss some spread like this.” She looked around the overgrown lawn. “There’s empty bullet cases as well, and a wooden baseball bat.”

  “Fill your pockets with empty brass, and pick up any machetes. If we’ve room for the rest on the way back we’ll take it.” Harold headed out onto the road and stopped.

  “Hold it right there. This is our place.” The voice came from the houses ahead.

  “Fair enough, we’ll just move back a bit.” Harold looked left and right. “Back into the ruins of the houses behind us, everyone, then move in closer.”

  A few minutes later the group gathered together. “I thought we had a mile each way from Orchard Close, Harold?” Holly glared across towards where the voice came from.

  “We do, and we need it with all the close stuff being smashed. But first we find out who this is.” Harold raised his voice. “What are you lot called?”